A Needle In A Haystack
by idgivetheworld182
Summary: To protect her best friend, and save the love of her life, Quinn Fabray has to become District 8's very first volunteer for The Hunger Games. The odds are not in her favour. Fabrevans friendship and eventual Faberry.
1. Prologue

Prologue.

Quinn Fabray is four years old. She lives in District 8 with her mommy, daddy, and older sister Frannie. Frannie was picked to play a game in the capitol. Quinn understands that the game is hard, and that when you lose, you don't come back. Quinn doesn't understand where the losers go. Do they _ever_ come back? She understands that the look on her mommy and daddy's faces when Frannie was picked to play meant sadness. She doesn't understand why they sit down to watch the start of the game, if it makes them so sad. Quinn understands that the people in the game are hurting each other. She understands that a big boy from District 2 hurts Frannie at the start of the game. She doesn't understand why Frannie doesn't get up after the boy walks away. She doesn't understand why no one helps her.

"Mommy" Quinn tugs at her mothers skirt, and pulls herself onto her feet. "Mommy, why wont Frannie get up?"

Quinn's father leaves the room. Quinn hears things breaking, and her father start to cry.

Quinn starts to cry, because mommy is crying, and she doesn't understand why.

Quinn Fabray is seven years old. She understands the game that Frannie had to play. She understands that Frannie wont ever come back. She understands that in five years time, maybe she'll have to play the game too. She doesn't understand why her mother wont eat. She understands why everyone in school has to learn about making clothes. She understands that they're being punished for something. She doesn't understand what they're being punished for.

Quinn Fabray is eleven years old. She understands that her mother is dead, and that her father drinks alcohol all day long. She understands that her best friend Sam may be picked to play the game this summer. She still doesn't understand what the point of it all is. She understands that the girl down the street has a beautiful singing voice. She understands that she, and the rest of Panem, are prisoners.


	2. Grey

One.  
Grey.

The Capitol always said the reapings in District 8 were strange. Despite the mass production of clothes, _nice clothes_ at that, everyone wore grey. There was no known reason why, it had just been that way for as long as Rachel could remember. Her mother said it was around about the 40th game when absolutely everyone had done it. District 8 hadn't had a victor since the 36th. It was now the 64th game. A girl Rachel's age had been the second remaining tribute last year, Cecelia was her name, but the career from 1 landed a knife in her neck. Rachel believed that nobody cared anymore. And she didn't either, really. She had learnt not to make any friends, after seeing so many people break down in tears each year as another poor girl and boy are ushered to into the Justice Building. The truth was, the chance of someone from District 8 winning was about as slim as President Snow calling the whole thing off. Other Districts had skills they could utilise, axes, tridents, traps. When has there ever been a sewing needle in the cornucopia? And what would you even _do_ with that? She sighed, silently praying her name would not be drawn, as always.

"Ready sweetie?" Her mother called from the hall. Rachel stepped out of her bedroom to meet her mother and father. They both wore the same grey outfits they had always worn, all of Rachel's life. Longer. She fell routinely into her mothers arms.

"I love you." Their arms drew tighter simultaneously.

"I love you too, Rachel."

Her father was already at the door. He never said anything, because he refused to accept that her name would ever be chosen.

The town centre looked much the same as it did every year. Girls and boys, roped off by age. She gave her mother one last hug, before setting off to the 16 section. Back straight, head high, she waited. Eventually, a man with cropped blue hair and a ridiculous jacket walked across the stage, followed by Mayor Schuester. The blue haired man, District 8's Escort, Beaufort Cronin, cared just as much as the rest of the district.

"Welcome" Cronin bellowed into the microphone.

"Let's get this show on the road, shall we?" He crossed the stage in the direction of the bowl with girls names, but he stopped. He walked back to the microphone. "Let's mix things up this time." He changed direction, and headed for the boys bowl instead. Plunging his hand in, he quickly retrieved a shred of paper.

He cleared his throat as he walked back to the microphone.

"Sam Evans." That was bound to happen eventually. The Evans were the poorest of the poor, Sam had taken tesserae as soon as he turned twelve, and continued to do so each year. Stone faced, the boy left his place in the 17 section and walked to the stage, shaking his head at a girl in the section behind Rachel, mouthing something before he turned. He shook the mayors hand, and then Cronin's. Cronin headed back over to the girls bowl. He stuck his hand in ungracefully and yanked out a piece of paper with a sigh. He glanced at it as he stepped back across the stage.

"Rachel Berry."

_What did he say?_

The other girls around her were looking in her direction, maybe at the girl next to her? No, she was staring at her too. She looked back up at the stage, Sam was shaking his head again, looking down at his feet.

"Rachel, Berry," Cronin said again, slower and louder this time. There was now empty space around Rachel where the other girls had once been, and the Peace Keepers were by her side, bringing her to the stage. Rachel suddenly found herself on stage, standing next to Sam. She was a tribute? No, this had to just be her yearly pre-reaping nightmare. She searched the crowd for her parents. Her mothers face was buried in her fathers neck. He still showed no emotion.

"I know the answer to this, but we have to ask anyway, any volunteers?" Cronin was met with silence.

"Right, well then if you'd please-"

"I volunteer!


	3. A First

Two.  
A First.

"Sam Evans".

I lock eyes with him as he leaves the section and heads to the stage. He shakes his head.

His lips move. _Dont._

What the hell am I gonna do? Whatever girl that get's chosen is no way going to help Sam. Only I can do it. But I promised I wouldn't. Unless she was picked. Her family are well off. She's probably never taken tesserae, she'll never be picked. All I can do now is help Sam's family. Wait, have they picked the girl yet? Everyone's looking at a girl in the section in front.

"Rachel, Berry" Cronin says, for a second time by the sound of it. I look up to Sam. He's shaking his head again.

Oh. I watch as the younger girl is taken up to the stage to stand by Sam. What do I do? What do I do?!

"I know the answer to this, but we have to ask anyway, any volunteers?"

I have to do this. I look at Sam, he's still staring at the floor. I definitely have to do this.

"Right, well then if you'd please-"

I push out of the section and into the path, Peacekeepers immediately by my side, grabbing my arms.

"I volunteer!" The crowd turn to look at me. Sam's shoulders sink. Rachel starts to cry.

"Oh…" Cronin says. "Uh, well, get her up here then."

The peacekeeper by Rachel's side leads her down the steps as the ones by my side lead me up. We lock eyes for a few seconds. It's the first time she's ever looked at me straight in the eye. First time she's probably ever looked at me. I take my place next to Sam. Cronin picks up the microphone and walks towards me. I keep my head up, facing straight in front of me. I keep my eyes on the clock tower in the distance.

"What's your name?" He holds the microphone in front of me.

"Quinn Fabray." I see his smile drop in the corner of my eye. Everyone knows the Fabray name. I bet he's thinking that after this game, Russell will finally have a reason to give up and die.

"Uh, well…" he turns to the crowd. "Let's give a big cheer for Quinn, District 8's very first volunteer!" The applause is strangled. I look down to the crowd and their faces are still painted with shock.

"Well, thank you all for coming to the 64th reaping… Happy Hunger Games!"

We're pulled into to the Justice Building. Sam still hasn't spoken to me. As I go to open my mouth, to say what, I'm not sure, we're shoved into two separate rooms.

I sit and wait in the visiting room, wondering if anyone will actually come say goodbye. Kurt might, Sam's parents maybe? My father probably doesn't even realise what's happened. Probably just as well. I'd rather no goodbye than have him dragged away by Peace Keepers when they realise he's drunk. Fifteen minutes till we get on that train. I swing my legs aimlessly. The door opens and two men in white usher a tall pale boy into the room.

"I hope you know what you're doing Fabray." I pull a chair out for him, but he stays standing.

"Be serious Kurt, of course I don't. I just couldn't let her go. She wouldn't stand a chance. Besides I made a promise to Sam years ago I wouldn't let him go in there alone."

"Yeah and he told you not to do it! Quinn they can't lose both of you!"

I get up and place my hands on the boys shoulders. Why doesn't he understand?

"They wont. Don't you get it? I don't intend to win, Kurt. I spend the whole game protecting Sam, then when it's just me and him left, I take myself out. Russell doesn't need me, in fact this is probably best for him." He looks into my eyes. He doesn't like what he's hearing.

"I just… I don't want either of you to go… neither will Burt."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, even though he's taller than me.

"Tell that to the Capitol." I stand back. "Have you seen Sam yet?"

"Just going now…" He gives my shoulder a squeeze and walks towards the door.

"Goodbye, Quinn." As the door shuts, it fully sinks in that I will never see Kurt ever again. I shrug it off, because I can cry all I want in my room on the train. Right now is not the time. I glance at the clock. Eight minutes. There is a knock at the door. Sam's parents I assume. But when I turn to the open door, a tall, dark haired man is pushed in by Peacekeepers. He shakes my hand.

"My name is Leroy Berry." I nod because I know who he is. He owns the children's shoe shop down the street from us. He lives above the shop with his wife, and the girl I'm never going to see again. He takes a seat in the chair I had pulled out for Kurt.

"Rachel is… confused, but incredibly grateful for what you just did…"

I try to swallow the sticky lump in my throat. I can't seem to form any explanation, so I just nod.

"She's not sure why you did it, me and her mother aren't either. As far as we're concerned, you and Rachel have never even talked…"

I nod again, but the look on his face shows he needs a proper explanation. I rattle through my brain. I could just say I volunteered to help Sam, and that regardless of what girl was picked, I would have volunteered. But I want Rachel to know somehow she was still a factor in my decision, don't I? But it seems totally pointless, making an effort for her to notice me, as I'm about to be taken away to the Capitol to die. A Peacekeeper walks in.

"Two minutes." Leroy nods.

"I don't-", my voice breaks, "I don't have a family, really. Rachel does. So does Sam. I figured I could save two people at once, y'know?"

He's silent for a moment, and he stares at his shoes. The minute hand on the clock clicks to fifty-nine, and he looks up again, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"With an attitude like that, maybe we'll get a victor this year."

I nod. They will. Sam will win, and I'll make sure of it.

"He'll win. I promise you sir."

He doesn't say anything else, just gets up, gives my shoulder a squeeze, and exits the room. Exactly as the clock ticks to three pm, two Peacekeeprs barge in and lead me into the hall. I see Sam's family leave, and his mother steals a hug from me before a Peacekeeper pulls her off and pushes them out into the square. We're lead into a car where we sit either side of Cronin.

"Burt is waiting at the train station." He says.

"Does he know we're this years tributes?" Sam asks. He still hasn't looked at me.

Cronin shakes his head. "He should have been at the reaping, but he was pardoned. Don't know why."

Sam nods. His eyes are glossed over, but his face stays stiff and cold. I know he's been crying, and he knows I know, and even though he'll never admit it I know he takes comfort in the fact that I don't judge him. The car journey is over in minutes, and we pull up to the station. Burt Hummel, our most recent and only living victor, stands by the steps. He turns to the car as we get out, and I see his shoulders fall, and his eyes go wide. Sam shakes his hand as he gets on the train.

"Mr Hummel."

He looks at me, an annoyed look now covering his face.

"It had to be _both_ of you, didn't it?"

* * *

**Hey, SO basically, some chapters will be in Quinn's POV, like this, and others will be in Rachels, like "Grey." I don't think I'll write any in anyone else's POV. There will be one or two in third person as well! Oh and reviews are always great. I usually end up abandoning stories for lack of reviews...**


	4. Night Terror

Three.  
Night Terror.

Rachel was still crying when Leroy got home shortly after he left the Justice Building.

"I took her straight to her room, and she's just curled up on her bed" Shelby told him in a hushed voice. "What did she say?"

Leroy shook his head as he moved to the kitchen and sat down.

"Not much. It was more about protecting the boy than saving Rachel. No reason specifically to do with her. At least, that's what she told me."

Shelby turned from the kettle she was filling up.

"You think there might be more to it?"

Leroy shrugs. "You remember what Burt said to me two years ago. This could be it." He got up to fetch the tea from the pantry. "Quinn could have the potential."

Shelby quietly set a pot and three cups down on the work top.

"Why would she be chosen before she's even won? They need a victor, Lee, not a tribute."

She fills the pot with tea and water, stirs it, and then pours a cup of weak tea.

"Besides, at the moment, a rebellion is just a rumour." She says, almost in a whisper, as she leaves the kitchen and walks down the hall to the room at the end. She opens the door quietly, and her shoulders sink as her daughter comes into view. Rachel is in the exact same position she was when Shelby went to make tea. Shelby pushes into the room and sets the cup of tea down on the dresser next to the bed, and sits next to her daughter. She's stopped sobbing, but still lets out the occasional sniffle and whimper.

"Sweetie, it's okay." Shelby rubs her back, and begins coaxing Rachel to sit upright with her other hand.

"Drink your tea, dear."

Shelby brings the cup to Rachel once she's sitting up, and Rachel shakily takes it from her hands and gulps half the cup down, not caring that it's still hot.

"I need to start preparing dinner, but just come through if you need anything, okay?"

Rachel nods, and Shelby leaves the room. Rachel doesn't eat dinner that night, and while she's exhausted, and she doesn't fall asleep until the early hours of the morning.

* * *

"Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes" Cronin says as he enters the carriage. I'm actually pleased about his presence, as it breaks the awkward silence that we've been sitting in for almost half an hour. After Cronin had shown us to our rooms, we washed up and got changed out of our reaping clothes into some awful Capitol type garments. Then we were ushered into the dining carriage to wait. Sam explained to Burt what happened at the reaping, I received some questionable looks from him, but he didn't say a word to me.

Cronin grabs a bottle of wine and two glasses from the table at the side.

"Hummel?" Burt shakes his head, and Cronin puts one of the glasses down. He pours a glass and sinks into one of the couches with a groan.

"I'll tell you this now," he says to me, "there's going to be some fuss made over you in the Capitol tomorrow night."

"Why?" Sam asks before I can.

"She's District 8's first ever volunteer. And I really mean first ever." He turns back to me.

"People are going to be asking you about it all week, I promise you."

"He's right," Burt nods. "What are you going to say to them?"

Six eyes turn to me and I can't think.

"Uhm, that I'm going protect Sam?"

Burt shook his head.

"No way. You wont get sponsors. If someone is going to be protecting anyone it'll have to be Sam protecting you."

"What!? No, Sam is going to win. He can't-" he cuts me off.

"If you go to the Capitol saying a skinny little girl is going to protect an almost man who is twice the size of you_, _you're going to be laughed at. No one will take you seriously. It will make Sam look weak. You'll get little sponsors, if any."

I scoff and look away.

"By all means, Quinn, protect Sam when you get in there. But until then, you need to think of another reason for volunteering."

I have nothing to say. It's ridiculous, the Capitol thinking I couldn't protect Sam. Why shouldn't I be able to? Before I can think about it too much, the carriage door slides open and two Avox's walk in with a dinner cart. We'd heard that the Avox's serving the tributes were District 8 criminals, but since none of our tributes had ever come back in my lifetime, it was just a myth, really. We'd never have asked Burt. I sit down at the table with the other three and slyly stare at the woman. She's maybe in her thirties. Tall, blonde, thin. I believe maybe she _is_ from District 8, I can feel some memory trying to surface in my mind. I don't recognise the boy, and he's probably only a few years older than me. Maybe from one of the suburbs outside of town. No one speaks during dinner, aside from the few comments Cronin makes about the food. It's a real feast, and there are dishes I haven't ever heard of, let alone tried. Burt retires to his room shortly after dinner, and soon enough the night rolls in and we're sent for a good nights rest, as if that's possible for tributes.

I lay in bed wide awake for about an hour before the door slides open and I see Sam's figure stand in the door way.

"Hey" I whisper as I sit up.

He shuts the door and sits at the foot of my bed, and stares at the floor. I swing my legs around so we're side by side, and I place my hand over his. He twists his wrist around so our fingers slide into each others and he squeezes my hand.

"Do you really want to protect me?" He says, and it's almost a whimper.

"Your family needs you."

After a moment he turns and buries his face into my neck, shaking and sobbing. I wrap my arms around him and we stay like that for about ten minutes, but I can't be sure. This is the third time I've seen Sam cry. The first was when his grandmother died seven years ago. The second was when his mother didn't speak for a whole month. He's never seen me cry, not even at Judy's funeral. He whispers something into my shoulder but I can't make it out. I pull myself away and look down, and he repeats it with more volume.

"Did you recognise the blonde Avox?" I nod.

"But I don't know where from…"

"Me neither…" He sits up and wipes his nose and eyes with the satin sleeve of the night shirt found in his room.

"We should sleep, we've got a long day ahead of us." And with that all traces of tears and hurt are gone, and his face is back to stone.

"Good night, Quinn." He leaves me in the dark.

* * *

Rachel finds herself in a fuzzy version of last years arena. Yellow rock and sand for miles, no trees, a hot sun beating down on her face. She looks down, and sees that she's in a beige flight suit and black combat books. In front of her, she sees the final scene from the 63rd game. Cecelia, spear in hand, avoiding the knives being flung at her head. The Career is the same, but Cecelia is different this time. She's faster, more agile, and taller. Her hair is different too, Rachel remembers it being long and red. It's short and blonde now.

"Cecelia?" She calls, unsure if it's even her. She sat next to her in lower school for three years, how could she be so uncertain? The girl doesn't answer. The Career continues picking up knives and throwing them. The girl turns and sprints towards Rachel, and she sees that it's definitely not Cecelia. The Career throws a knife and it lodges itself in the back of Quinn's neck.

"QUINN!" Rachel runs towards the limp body on the ground, but a cannon is set off and Quinn is being hoisted into the sky. A fanfare starts.

"The winner of the 64th annual Hunger Games, is Rachel Berry!"

Rachel raises her hands in protest, and sees that she's holding two knives. The Career is nowhere to be seen. Tears begin freely flowing down Rachel's face, and before she can wipe them away, she lets out a strangled sob, and falls to the ground.

"Rachel!" Claudius Templesmith shouts through the arena PA. "Rachel!"

She feels hands on her shoulder, and looks to see President Snow staring at her from above.

"Rachel, honey..." he says.

She closes her eyes to trap the tears, and when she opens them again she sees white sheets and yellow wall paper, dimly lit by the moon through the window.

"Sweetie, it's okay, just a bad dream…" Her mother is at her side.

The brief feeling of thankfulness is soon swept away by guilt. She curls herself into a tight ball and sobs loudly.

"Quinn is going to die because I'm not," she forces out through strangled cries

* * *

**I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, but I just needed to get past this part somehow, and I didn't want to just skip over it. I think the rest is going to run a bit more smoothly and possibly with longer chapters.**


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